White Wings
by Illesrhea
Summary: Chas' murder was by no means the end of his journey. His struggle has just begun, and its outcome will affect Heaven, Hell, and Earth. Possible ChasOC
1. Prologue

White Wings - Prologue

Summary: Chas' attack at the hospital was by no means the end of his journey. His struggle has just begun, and its outcome will affect Heaven, Hell, and Earth. Possible Chas/OC.

Disclaimer: I'm making no money here. I own absolutely nothing in this fic. Zip. Zilch. Happy now?

Author's Note: This is my first Constantine fanfiction, but is by no means my first fanfiction. All I am using for info is the movie. I haven't read the book its based on, or anything like that. I apollogise for anything I get wrong, but please don't bite my head off. If you make note of any mistakes in the reviews, I will do my best to correct them, so long as it doesn't screw up my plotline. If it does, well, you're just going to have to bear the criminal inaccuracy.

I was flicking through the fics here, and struck by how cowardly Chas is portrayed in many of them. I never felt that Chas was cowardly, I just thought he never had a chance. Inexperienced, unsure of himself, alright, but not cowardly. So Chas, here's your chance to be the hero!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Where am I?"

He hovered in a state between sleep and wakefulness, peaceful and yet confused. He tried to open his eyes and look around, but an intense white light blinded him, and though he tried to shade his eyes all he could see when he opened them was white.

"Just rest, child." The voice was warm and soft, feminine, and the most lovely thing he had ever heard. He relaxed slightly as he felt her cool hand on his forehead. He felt… good. At peace.

"He's ours, half-angel." This voice was harsh and cruel, roughened with malice and spite. "You know the law."

I'm… dead? No, that can't be right. I'm turning eighteen in just a couple weeks. I can't be dead. That wouldn't be fair…

"He defies the law," the woman said calmly, though her voice now had an intense underlying edge to it. "The rules do not apply to his situation. His soul is pure and you have no claim on him."

"He hasn't earned Heaven!"

"Nor has he earned Hell."

"My master will not be pleased at this. You will learn to fear Lucifer's power, Ariel."

Her laughter had a bite to it. "Go and tell your master, and I will tell mine. We shall see what comes to pass."

"I will-"

"Spare me your threats, Ghezrhan. Get you gone."

He tried to lift his arms, sit up and look around, but his arms felt leaden and useless and the light still hurt his eyes. A soft hand pressed down on his chest, forcing him gently down.

"You'll only tire yourself, child. You must wait until this business is concluded before you can move on." He thought he heard a note of worry in her voice.

"What is going on?" he asked feebly. He felt her take his hand and press it to her lips.

"Ssh," she whispered. "I'm not sure yet. Just try to sleep."

He didn't have to work hard to obey her. After a while, he hazily registered that Ariel had been called away by some other angel. He was dimly aware of the angry, hushed argument between several angels and another demon. He was beginning to fully awaken when the sweet-voiced angel was again at his side.

"It looks as though you are leaving us again, my sweet boy," she whispered softly into his ear. Her sweet breath lingered on his cheek. It took him a second to realize what she had said. His eyes shot open despite the burning light, and he looked into her blurred face, mostly obscured by the intense white.

"You mean I'm going to-"

"You must be brave, darling. Be strong." She kissed his forehead firmly and with much emotion. He tried to speak, but felt himself fading, being pulled downwards. In several long moments, the pure white gave way to all-encompassing black.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Don't worry, there's more! I wouldn't do that to Chas!


	2. Chapter 1

Author's note: I just realized that there's a major flaw in my story plan. When I was devising this plot, I was working under the erroneous assumption that mortals could see angels and demons, they just couldn't see their wings/scaly bits. They just looked human to living mortals. I'm really sorry about the mistake, but I absolutely cannot change it for the story to work. Just bear that in mind.

Oh, and 'Chas' is a diminutive of 'Charles'. I looked it up on I was surprised. I thought it was a made up name. I couldn't resist working it in somewhere.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

John Constantine held the small white cylinder between thumb and forefinger, and stared at it as though it was a difficult puzzle he was trying to solve. Goddamn it he wanted to smoke. He was trying to decide whether it really mattered if he gave in just this once. The only problem was that he had given in "just this once" three times since last night. In the short days since he had been cured of his lung cancer, he had had almost a full pack of "last" cigarettes. He needed to draw the line sometime.

With an angry exhale, he threw the paper tube to the ground, and stepped on it, drawing out a clean white stick of gum instead. It wasn't the same, but it helped him deal with the empty feeling left by the lack of his favorite routine.

The evening was wet and chill, and a passing car splattered him with water from a dirty puddle by the side of the road. "Thanks a lot, asshole," he muttered, shaking droplets off his black leather coat. He sauntered sullenly across the road, ignoring hurrying cars honking at him to move faster. He wasn't looking forward to where he was going.

Constantine hated hospitals. Growing up in one will do that to you. The chill sterility of the soulless building always made him feel like a helpless kid again, even after all he had accomplished. He hailed a cab and told the driver to take him to the hospital. He sat back in his seat and stared blankly at the wet, black concrete of the road outside, lit up with golden highlights from streetlamps.

He'd been too shocked to be happy when he'd received the phone call. Charles Kramer had been rushed to the medical ward as soon as Police had arrived on the crime scene. The doctors had worked for several hours restoring his heartbeat and blood pressure to acceptable levels, and eventually it seemed that he would survive. He had been dead for slightly less than a minute.

He hadn't woken up yet, though. The doctors had declared him comatose and arranged for family to be notified. The hospital clerk had had a hell of a time tracking down a living relative, and had come across John Constantine's name and number. Going out on a limb, he had called and asked if he were some relation. That had been an hour ago, and John had been putting off the hospital visit for as long as he could stand it.

He paid the taxi driver (along with a pitiful tip), and stepped from the icy wetness of night into the florescent sterility of the hospital with some foreboding. He stepped up to the desk where a harassed looking woman with a tight bun was typing frantically on a computer.

"Excuse me… Chas – um, Charles Kramer, what ward is he in?"

"Just a moment sir," sighed the tired woman, clicking several times and punching in a few keys. She gave him a few brief directions before turning back to her work.

It took almost forty five minutes for Constantine to navigate the identical corridors of the hospital until he came across the right room. The door creaked ominously as John stepped into the room.

"Hey Chas," he whispered softly. The teenager looked more dead now than he had in the hydrotherapy room. His skin was gray and clammy, his hair matted and damp. His hands fell limply onto the covers and his head lolled slightly off to one side. Only the persistent beep of the heartrate monitor confirmed that there was life in that body.

Constantine hung on the opposite side of the room, as though he was afraid to come too close. He leaned against the closed door, staring at his young apprentice. After a while he looked as though he thought he should be saying something, and took in a deep breath.

"I took out Gabriel for you, Chas. Well, not exactly. He's human now, and that's worse punishment than anything I could have done." No answer. What did he expect? He had been hoping beyond hope for Chas to look up, smile, nod, anything. But he just lay there, limp and hollow.

"Look… I'm sorry, okay?" he added quietly. "Sorry I let you come along on my stupidly dangerous mission, sorry I let Gabriel do this to you. I got him back, Chas. You can bet on it." Silence again. John ran his hand over his face. He wanted a cigarette.

"C'mon, kid. Wake up." He cajoled softly, without much hope. He stared at the empty body for a long time – he didn't know how long – until a shy nurse came in and told him visiting hours were over. He nodded, and turned to say goodbye to the deaf ears of his apprentice.

"If there's any justice in the world, that thing's empty, and you're sitting on a cloud somewhere strumming a harp," he said, with a little hollow humor but no real hope. John knew well there was no justice in the world. "I'll be in touch when you wake up," he finished lamely, and with a last lingering glance from his unreadable dark eyes, he turned and left the room.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

For a while the room was silent but for the monotonous beeps of the heartrate monitor. Chas never stirred. It only took ten minutes or so for his next visitor to arrive.

The man was well dressed – a black suit and tie, matching his piercing dark eyes and neatly combed hair. He sat down on the chair beside Chas' bed, a half grin on his face.

"Lookin' good, kid," he sneered, leaning back and putting his feet up on the bed. "The clammy gray looks good on you."

He laughed nastily, nudging Chas' motionless form with the toe of his dress shoe. "Who would have thought," he mused to himself, "John Constantine's useless little lackey, caught in the center of the war to end all wars. Ironic. Don't flatter yourself, though. You're little more than a stepping stone on the way to greater things."

He put his feet back down and sat forward in his chair, scraping Chas' cheek with a long nail. "Killing you is just business, kid. Granted, I'll enjoy it. I've been looking forward to it. Tasting the blood of John Constantine's apprentice… is there a demon in hell who wouldn't relish it? And so soon after the exorcist demolished my plans. Revenge is sweet, my boy."

He reached over slowly with his right hand, and placed his long fingers around Chas' throat.

"See you in Hell, kid."

"Big man, Balthazar, killing a human child in a coma. Lucifer ought to promote you for your bravery." The voice was sharp, and Balthazar started, pulling his hand back.

The woman who had spoken stood in the doorway, a cold, disdainful look in her eyes. Her eyes were a warm sky blue, and her hair was a deep rust colour, falling down her shoulders and back in loose curls. She was dressed in street clothes – a white halter top and dark blue jeans – but she seemed somehow more intimidating than Balthazar in his starched black suit.

A slow smile covered the demon's face. "So, God let his favorite goody two shoes half breed back down into the world of the living. I'm surprised he didn't think it was too dangerous for daddy's little girl." He laughed nastily, and rose slowly to his feet. "What brings you to the bedside of the damned?"

"Shut your foul mouth, beast. The boy's soul is not your master's yet. And you know well why I am here."

"Indeed," Balthazar sneered, looking around. "This room's too small for brawling, little angel. You might hurt your precious ward."

"True. But your cover would be blown, and your boss mightn't be too pleased with you." The angel smiled. "If I were you, I'd try and stay on his good side."

Balthazar sneered, but couldn't quite hide his nervousness at this thought. He managed a shallow laugh. "This is futile, little angel. You can't stop this war."

"No?" she said. "Watch me."

Balthazar shrugged and turned to leave. "My plans can be laid out any time, my dear. This is only a small delay."

"Just leave," she spat.

He paused at the door, and turned to face her. All his false human imitation was gone. His eyes flashed darkly at her, and his skin scabbed over to its original scaly gray. "When we win this war, angel, I will see to it personally that a special corner in hell is reserved for you. I will take extra pleasure watching you writhe and burn along with the rest of your ilk."

An overworked nurse clicked down the hallway, and in an instant Balthazar's visage again resembled nothing more than a respectable business man. He turned on his heel and left. The woman sneered at his retreating back.

She turned to the bed, her expression much gentler, and sat down beside Chas' unconscious form. She gently smoothed a few tangled curls back from his face, and placed her hand onto his forehead. She closed her eyes, her mouth working silently as she whispered latin incantations. A soft rushing sound drifted into the room, grew, and faded again to silence. The angel finished the incantation and opened her eyes.

Nothing happened. Chas didn't even stir. But the angel seemed satisfied. She stood quickly, and left the room briskly without looking back, closing the door behind her.

Nothing moved. The heartrate monitor continued its steady beeps, its screen showing regular spikes every few seconds. Beep, beep beep… but the sounds were coming faster now, the green line spiking higher and higher, more erratically, with less time between each disturbance. Chas' body was twitching, his breath coming in faster, his face contracted as though in pain.

With a colossal gasp, Chas Kramer shot up in bed, his eyes wide with shock and panic, his hands gripping the bedclothes into his fists. As his shoulders shook with his panicked breaths, his head bowed and back curved weakly, he tried to get a grip on himself. Trying to get an idea of his surroundings, he ran his eyes over the room. When his eyes returned to his own bed, he saw something that made him pause. He picked it up with shaking fingers, and turned it over in his hands.

One glistening, slender white feather.


	3. Chapter 2

(Author's note: Thanks to all you who reviewed! I live for those reviews. I send out love and hugs to all you who said nice things.)

John didn't gush or worry or even smile when he saw Chas awake for the first time since the Mammon incident. He seemed to drift in the door, silently, and looked his old friend up and down, a glint of affection in his eyes.

"Hey, kid," he rasped. "You look like hell." The humor was plain in his eyes and voice, but not on his face. Chas understood, and grinned.

"Good to see you too, John." He pushed himself up on bed, surprising himself at his own weakness. He had only been out for a few days, but he had already lost several pounds and his muscles were unused to moving. He was a little on the thin side anyway, but now he just looked scrawny and a little boney.

"You feeling better?" he asked gruffly, trying to maintain his manly exterior. Chas shrugged.

"Not bad. I probably just needed a chance to sleep a full night without being woken up to chauffer for an exorcism," he said pointedly, smiling. He tried to stretch out his underworked muscles, and ended up tangled in his IV and electrodes, which he pulled off, easing the needle gingerly from his skin. The heartrate monitor flatlined as he disconnected himself from it. He laughed gently.

"Check it out, John, I'm dead!"

"Not funny, Chas." John was suddenly serious. It was hard to tell the difference, but Chas had figured it out. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "You _were _dead, for a minute there." Chas couldn't think of a thing to say. "What do you remember?"

"Remember?" Chas thought for a moment. "I remember… saving Angela, then something grabbing me… a _hell_ of a headache… and then it just all went black." His brows were furrowed in concentration. John let out a breath impatiently.

"Yes, and then?" he asked.

"There's nothing after that. Nothing until I woke up, I mean. But there's this… its stupid, it was probably a dream."

"What?" John asked gently.

"I remember music. Not like normal music, like… a chorus of surreal voices. No human choir could have sounded that beautiful. I don't think human ears could even hear it right, actually. It was… indescribable." His eyes lit up as he remembered, and a smile of wonderment played at his lips.

John really smiled this time. It was a rare occurrence.

"Good," was all he said. They were silent for a time, until Chas shook himself out of wondering reminiscence.

"So when am I gonna get out of here?" He said with a hint of whine in his voice. He would have walked out the door an hour before if not for his lack of real clothes and the forceful persuasion of some of the larger nurses.

"They want to run some tests before they'll let you out. It shouldn't take too long." John suppressed a small smile. "While you were asleep I'd forgotten how annoying you were."

"Yeah, yeah," Chas drawled. "Lets get the hell out of here."

John was about to remind him of the tests, when he realized how much he hated hospitals. "Fair enough. Lets go."

"Um… hey John, you didn't bring me any clothes, did you? There's no way I'm going out there in just this paper thing," Chas said, gesturing to the flimsy hospital gown. John rolled his eyes and tossed his long trenchcoat to him. Chas threw it around his shoulders and followed John down the hall to the elevator.

"Hold the elevator!" called John futilely. The doors were already starting to close, and no one made any effort to keep them open. The woman standing at the front smiled shyly and looked down.

Chas knew that face. It was a feeling akin to déjà vu, and equally as unsettling. She was about his age, he thought. Maybe she had gone to school with him or something. He knew instinctively that this was not the case. Something had been… different about her, too. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

As the doors closed completely, John smacked his hand against them angrily.

"Would it have killed them to squeeze two more on?" he raged to no one in particular.

"Hey, John, did you notice that woman standing at the front? The one with the red hair?"

"Huh?" Constantine grunted. "I didn't notice anything but the closing damn doors, Chas."

"Its just that she seemed… different…" he murmured inarticulately. "Sort of… unreal-looking." John just grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well you just recovered from a major head trauma, Chas. Don't think too hard."

When they reached the parking lot, John gestured to a certain, very familiar, car.

"You got my cab?" Chas said, surprised. He glanced up at the elder man, who looked expectant.

"Oh no. No, you can't be serious," Chas breathed. "I just came out of a goddamn coma, John!"

"You told me you felt fine."

"I don't have my license with me."

"Then don't get pulled over," John grinned, forgetting himself and reaching for a non-existent cigarette.

Grumbling to himself, Chas got behind the wheel. "I was crazy to think anything would change. I only helped save Angela's life!"

"Yes. And then you were killed temporarily and sank into a coma for four days." John drawled, throwing himself into the passenger seat. "They cancel each other out."

When they reached John's place, he offered to let Chas stay for a few days until he got himself together, but he waved it off. He needed to go see his landlady anyway, and explain why he hadn't been home in four days. Besides, it would feel good to be back at his own place, in his own bed. No matter how much of a shithole it was.

Chas' apartment consisted of a main room and a bathroom. The main room contained a fridge, a microwave, a bed, a small T.V. set, and shelves upon shelves of books. The floor creaked and the ceiling leaked. He strongly suspected rats or mice inhabited the building. But on a preoccupied cab driver's salary, it was pretty good.

The first thing he did upon stepping out of the car was swear the filthiest obscenities he knew, loudly and repeatedly. On the curb, drooping dejectedly, sat three big cardboard boxes full of books, both ancient and modern. Another box contained all his notes. It had rained while he had been out. The book pages were wrinkled and floppy, and the ink had run on all his notes. Thankfully, however, the garbage truck hadn't come to pick them up. This didn't make Chas feel any better.

After an angry screaming match with his landlady he found that she had also pawned several of his belongings and put out an ad for a new tenant. Fuming, he began lugging his books back into his place. One of the boxes had grown too flimsy from the wetness and tore like tissue paper under the weight, spilling onto the dirty street. Chas swore even more vehemently and bent to pick them up.

A delicate hand joined his, picking up a particularly valuable copy of Dante's Inferno, and helping him collect the scattered volumes. He grunted a thanks to the stranger without looking up. As he struggled to collect all the volumes, his hand met with his benefactor's over a copy of Nostradamus' prophecies. He glanced up at the owner of the hand, and found his gaze transfixed.

He was staring into the ocean-coloured eyes of the woman from the hospital elevator. They met his with polite distance at first, which gave way to uneasiness as he studied her face mutely, transfixed and fascinated, as déjà vu chilled his insides as it had at the hospital. She broke his gaze hastily with a hint of panic, and shoved the books she had collected into his arms, turning and walking at a fast clip in the opposite direction.

"Wait!" he called to her, but she turned into an alleyway and disappeared, leaving him standing stupidly in the middle of the street with an armful of soggy books. Her image was burned into his mind, teasing him with a mixture of fascination and nervousness. Her red hair had been slightly damp from the rain a few hours before, coming just below her shoulders. She had been wearing a halter top, despite the chilly gray afternoon. Barebacked. Odd.

He spent the rest of the day rebuilding his ravaged apartment and salvaging the books as best he could. He borrowed a hairdryer from a neighbor and painstakingly dried eack book, preserving most of the print. Most of his notes were completely illegible. He cursed his landlady to the deepest circle of hell.

His efforts took him well into the night. Despite his yearning earlier in the day, his bed didn't feel as good as he had imagined. Sleep was reluctant coming, and he resisted it a little, thinking of the long sleep he had recently endured. At five thirty, when he finally lost consciousness for a few tentative hours, his last thought was of the gentle faced woman with the auburn curls and eyes the colour of cloud-teased sky.


	4. Chapter 3

Chas knocked nervously at John's door, shifting his weight from foot to foot and chewing his lip distractedly. No answer. He knocked again, louder and more persistent this time. After a few seconds, the door jerked open, revealing a disshevelled, angry slob of a man in hastily thrown on pants and an undershirt, a tangled crop of hair and a heavy shadow of stubble on his chin.

"Chas," he began, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm very glad you're awake and all, but you had better have a pretty damn good reason for waking me up at seven thirty when we don't even have an exorcism."

"Yes," Chas said breathlessly, and then stopped. Now he was here, face to face with John, it no longer seemed like such an important problem. In fact, as he arranged his word choice in his head, it began to sound pretty damn stupid.

"I'm waiting, Chas," John said, and his dangerous quiet voice was beginning to change into a louder, more dangerous voice.

"There's this girl…" Chas said, and winced at John's expression. Stupid! "No no, that's not what I mean. Look, let me explain."

"That might be best."

"Since I woke up yesterday, I've run into her three times. Once in the hospital, once yesterday in the street, and this morning I saw her rounding a corner, like she was avoiding me. At least I think it was her. I could only see the back of her head, so I'm not sure, but…"

"Chas!" John interrupted. "You mean you just woke me up from the first decent night's sleep I've had in weeks to tell me about some coincidence with a stranger?"

"Its not just a regular coincidence. Three times in less than two days, John! On opposite ends of town! But that's not the point. She's so… well, you of all people should understand… otherworldly. Surreal, almost. And so completely familiar, but I don't know from where."

"I see," said John dryly, turning to trudge back into the kitchen and pour himself a cup of strong coffee. Chas followed, closing the door behind him.

"Yesterday, she was helping me pick up some books, and when I tried to get a good look at her face, she panicked and ran. I mean, why would she run if she were just a normal girl?"

"Because some weirdo kid was gawping at her like a deranged maniac?" John suggested casually, sipping his too-hot coffee and wincing.

"You're not listening! I know her from somewhere – it was like she was remembering me! I just wish I knew from where. And what does she know about me that would make her run?"

John was beginning to regret letting Chas skip out on those tests at the hospital. "Look, so you saw some girl a few times. Weird, sure, but you're way over-thinking this. What exactly are you suggesting here, that you are being followed by some kind of demon? Snap out of it, kid."

"Well…" Chas began, feeling sheepish. "Its not so improbable. They could be trying to get to you, you're probably number one on Hell's hit list right now. Or… it could have something to do with my recent death… I don't know…"

"Look, until this girl's head starts spinning around and she starts spewing vomit, I don't want to hear about this shit, Chas," John snapped. He's not a pleasant man, even in the afternoon when he hasn't been woken up by a raving kid. "Hey, drive me to the 7-11, would you, I've gotta pick up some smokes."

"I thought you quit," Chas said reproachfully. John brushed him off airily but with a hint of guilt.

"What are you, my doctor? Lets go." With the usual grumpy muttering, Chas pulled out his keys and headed for the cab.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I wish you'd at least think about it a little, John," Chas badgered as he drove through the honking, yelling jungle of busy traffic. John wasn't listening, instead staring vaguely out the window.

"Drop it," was all Chas could get out of him.

Chas drove in sullen silence for a while. As he turned the corner, a blur of auburn and white seemed to flash right in front of his cab.

"Jesus!" he yelled, and slammed on the brakes, jerking forward in his seat as the brakes screeched. He heard the sickening thud as his car hit something large, hard. John, who hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, smacked his head against the dashboard and swore loudly, adding to the panicked rush of sounds swelling up.

In the shock of the accident, a few long seconds passed as they listened to the cars honking and Chas' panicked breathing

"I think I hit someone." Chas began to panic as John sat back, rubbing his forehead. "Jesus, John, what am I going to do?" he said, his voice beginning to rise to a hysterical pitch. John opened his door. Seeing Chas' drained, shocked face, he knew it would be better if he handled it then let the kid freak out even more.

"Stay in the car," John ordered, and for once in his life Chas didn't mind obeying.

Before John even got to his feet, the victim stood, and Chas' white face grew even paler. It was the woman from his coincidences, the one who had helped him pick up his books. Even more frightening, there wasn't a scratch on her.

The woman stood, looking slightly dazed, stretched her back and worked out a crick in her neck. Slowly, she turned to face the car, and squinted at Chas' shocked face.

"Constantine, that's the woman from my-" John didn't even let him finish. His face had contorted into, surprisingly, rage and hatred, the kind which he usually saved for demons alone.

"YOU!" he bellowed, slamming the door shut and taking off after the startled woman. She got the hint quickly, and tore off across the street, ignoring the screetching brakes and honking horns of other drivers. John tore after her, and Chas raced through the door to join the chase.

Chas was lean and fast, but John was faster, and the strange woman far quicker than she looked. They were getting ahead of him, and he was beginning to feel winded already. He thought it was a trick of the light, but the woman seemed to lift very slightly into the air. Before he could get a good look at what was happening, John grabbed her around the waist and shoved her against the brick wall of a nearby building.

"Remember me, half breed?" John hissed as Chas caught up. The woman was avoiding his eyes. "'Cause I sure as hell remember you. Ariel – wasn't that what they called you?"

"You weren't supposed to recognize me," Ariel sighed. "Either of you. No one remembers the other planes when returned to their bodies."

"Well, I'm not a typical case, am I Ariel?" John spat, shoving her yet more painfully into the building. She rolled her eyes and braced herself against him, shoving him away easily, making him stagger at her strength. Free of his grasp, she made no attempt to run.

"What…. What in the hell is going on, John?" Chas gasped, his eyes unfalteringly on Ariel's haunting features. She wasn't beautiful, really, at least not in the classical sense of the word. Her face seemed to give off an instinctive warmth, setting off some gut reaction in him, as though he instinctively recognized divinity. It was almost hard to look at her. Her face wasn't a beautiful one in feature, but her nature seemed to shine out her eyes, making him feel her beauty rather than see it. How could John hate her so?

"Why don't you tell the kid, half-breed?" John spat, his face contorted with fury. "And while you're at it, tell him why the hell you've been following him."

"Oh, so you believe me now?" Chas said sarcastically. John silenced him with a glare.

"It is not for mortals to know the workings of heaven and hell," she scoffed loftily. John laughed hollowly.

"At this point, lady, there isn't much we don't know about either of them. Spill."

Ariel ignored him, looking instead kindly to Chas. "Are you feeling better, Charles? I was worried waking you so suddenly might damage you, hamper your recovery. You look good, though. I tried to speed the healing process."

"So you're an angel?" Chas said uncertainly. Ariel nodded, smiling. "You woke me?"

"It's a very long tale, my dear, which you will know in due time."

John was laughing again, a laugh without humor and full of malice. "You're all full of concern and benevolence now, angel. Where was that benevolence when _I_ died?"

Ariel's eyes grew sad as she looked upon John. "The rules were very specific about you, John. I couldn't defy them."

"You didn't even try! You watched calmly!"

Chas wanted to interrupt, to ask just what was going on, but he didn't want to draw John's rage to himself. Ariel seemed to anticipate his questions and turned to him.

"It's all very complicated, Charles," she began. "When John died, he was taken to be judged. A council of three demons and three angels were assigned to argue the soul's case. The side who wins takes the soul. John came before me and my peers when he was fifteen. He had committed suicide-"

"And you calmly handed me to the demons, didn't you, Ariel." John began to move threateningly closer to Ariel. "You watched me being dragged away. You didn't say a word in my defense, you goddamn half-breed! You sent me there!"

Ariel looked away. "The law is very specific, John. Do you really think I have the power to defy the laws laid down by God and Lucifer themselves?"

John's voice became very low and ugly. "I don't suppose you've ever been to Hell, have you angel? No, you shelter yourself prettily up there, sentencing us like errant children to absolute torment you are not even capable of understanding. You don't even understand earthly pain. But the pain of hell? The inescapable, all encompassing horror, the pain so great you aren't even human anymore? You can't think, you can't move. You become the pain. You are nothing but a screaming mass of being whose entire existence revolves around torment. You think you can picture that? You can't. And you sent me to _that _without a word in my defense. You didn't even care what you had sent me to, what you had sent countless others to. You think you are heavenly, divine? You are worse than the demons. You make me sick."

A small tear, like a shining crystal, gathered in the corner of the angel's eye. She flicked it away quickly. "Of course I cared, John. If I could have saved you, I would. It's not so simple. The word of God is inescapable. Your suicide sentenced you, not I."

"Yeah, well, you didn't do a god damn lot to help," John spat, backing off a little.

Chas almost didn't feel right speaking after that outburst, but he was burning to know what she was doing here. "Um… its Ariel, right? Why have you been following me? Why did you wake me up?"

She smiled sadly at him. "Many reasons, Charles."

"M-most people call me Chas," he said, nervous under her gaze.

"Chas," she continued uncertainly. "Many things are afoot here, and it seems you are the key."

"The key to what?"

She looked at him squarely, a dark look in her eyes. "To the war to end all wars."


End file.
